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How Frog Hospital got its name

News and commentary by Fred Owens in LaConner, a small town in the Skagit Valley. The story behind the name: There was once a grocery store in a quonset hut, run by Mr. Grobschmidt. Clyde, an old drunk who lived out on the river, thought that Mr. Grobschmidt looked like a frog, so he took to calling the store the "Frog Hospital." Now the quonset hut, Mr. Grobschmidt, and Clyde are all gone -- only this blog survives to carry on the Frog Hospital tradition.

Sunday, March 08, 2015

It Could Be Worse

Roger Cohen at the New York Times argues persuasively and
intelligently in favor of Obama’s deal with the Iranians. Charles Krauthammer
at the National Review argues with
equal intelligence in favor of Netanyahu’s rejection of that same plan.

This point and
counterpoint is very satisfying to me. I agree with Roger Cohen and support the
deal, but the vigorous opposition is not right-wing raving, but a sensible
alternative.Both choices can be
well-received.

My pal Harvey Blume
talks about the dreary possibility of Hillary Clinton’s campaign. He discusses
various alternatives….. We so desperately long for these alternatives – well, I
do, and Harvey seems to feel that way too….. Can we at least consider Bernie
Sanders?

Elephants
in the Circus and Elephants on the Table in Zimbabwe

We hear that the Ringling
Brothers circus will retire their performing elephants and send them back to
the farm in Florida. This is a good thing. We know and love elephants because
of the circus – so many of us, our parents and grandparents too, saw the
prancing pachyderms and gazed in wonder. That was the beginning of our education – in knowing
the ways of these enormous beasts -- that they like peanuts, and that they have
long memories.

Having been educated
at the circus and at the zoo, we can move up to a higher level of care and
retire the elephants to a savannah-park.

Eating
Elephants in Zimbabwe. However, there is a degree of cultural assertion
in our objection to the consumption of elephant meat in Zimbabwe.We need to make a distinction. Robert Mugabe,
the lifelong tyrant and cruel ruler of Zimbabwe is guilty of many crimes
against humanity and nature. We despise his despotism, but the consumption of
elephant meat at his birthday feast is a matter of no concern – not to the
people of Zimbabwe, who have been killing and eating elephants for thousands of
years.

Dwell on that thought
for a moment – African people live among large mammals, and have lived among
large mammals since the beginning of time.They sometimes hunt and kill these animals, and consume them -- the
giraffe, the hippo, the crocodile, the kudu, the impala -- such a rich variety
of game, including the elephant

The
poaching and slaughter of elephants for their ivory is an international crime.
That’s the problem. That is our legitimate concern……. But it kind of bothers me
that Mugabe
slaughters thousands of his people and oppresses millions of his people and
nobody pays attention. Then he eats a baby elephant and we are outraged.The consumption of nyamandlovu is the least of his crimes.
“Nyama” means meat in the Ndebele language of Zimbabwe. “Ndlovu” means
elephant. So put them together and you have “nyamandlovu” which is elephant meat.
What do you think they do with a slaughtered elephant – let the huge creature
to rot in the sun? No, it is consumed.Ndlovu is a common
surname in Zimbabwe, so we will meet a Mr. Ndlovu – or Mr. Elephant as we
translate his name. We will meet Mr. Mkomo, or Mr. Cow. We will meet Mrs. Ncube,
which is Mrs. Monkey….. This is quite charming, and noble.So let us retire the
circus elephants to the farm in Florida. Let us support a boycott of all ivory
products. Let us travel to Africa and go on safari and view these magnificent
creatures in their home territory. And let us pray for the end of Mugabe’s
reign – may he rot in hell!It
Could Be WorseI
am not ranting about my crummy job in particular – it is no worse than yours. I
am crying out on behalf of all of us – these are the lives of quiet desperation
that Thoreau warned us about. The common drudgery. The bleakness of labor…..
This is for my daughter who commutes an hour each way every day, slogging
through traffic in Seattle. This is for my son who endured more than a year of part-time
hell as a clerk at Barnes & Noble. This is for all of you who know what I
am talking about.

Looking back on --- I can't call it a career, but
looking back on some forty years in the workforce, starting with my first
after-school job at Del Dotto's grocery store, leading up to my current
position at Oscar's greenhouse, I must say it's been basically one crummy job
after another. A lot of boring jobs that never paid well. I did not succeed, or
earn top dollar or get any satisfaction -- with a few exceptions. I mean, there
were a few bright spots -- but for the most part it was, and still is, routine
drudgery for a few dollars.

One Facebook friend talks
about his good union job and how other guys were fools to work under the table
all those years because they have no pension now.... I reply to his boast ---
that good union jobs were not simply available for the asking. They were few
and far between and some of us worked under the table because that was all we
could get...... The only union job I ever had was at Cascade Cannery, and it
paid well, but that union was busted and that cannery was closed.

It doesn't matter. I
can say what I want. I worked for a living and I earned every dollar.

I started several
businesses, for the dubious pleasure of being my own boss. Each time I lost
money. Turns out I had no talent for such occupation.

Actually I did well
at work. It just wasn't any fun. Maybe that's why they call it work..... that reminds
me of that old hippie saying "Do what you love and the money will follow."
Not true. Nobody ever paid me to do what I love. They paid me to do something
they wanted me to do, and they didn't really care if I loved doing it or not,
as long as I did it........ And nobody ever "gave me a job." There
was no gift involved, it was always and simply a deal, a mutual agreement to
exchange labor for money -- and if both parties are satisfied, then it is a
kindness, but not an obligation, to thank the other party.

I enjoyed working as
a reporter for the Wilson County News in 2005-2007, and I enjoyed working at
Hedlin's produce market in 2010..... Those two jobs come to mind as quite
satisfying in that I looked forward to coming to work every day. But that’s two
jobs over forty years in the work force…..a dismal record.

It cheers me up quite
a bit to report this bad news. The embrace of reality can be quite satisfying.

What is the point of
me telling this story about my work experience – to gain sympathy? No, I am
sharing this story because it is so common. Many of you will report the same
thing. Many of you will report a regime of drudgery and boredom. So I am
speaking for you, not for myself.

You do hear of work
satisfaction – I have heard this most often from teachers, who seem to be
astonished by how much they love their work. But I have heard much less of this
from other people. You hear from architects who occasionally get a creative
assignment, but who spend of most of their days sucking up to unfeeling clients
with no taste. You hear from lawyers whose clients do not seek justice – they
seek revenge and they are willing to pay for that revenge.

You hear from farmers
who worked themselves to exhaustion and lost the farm anyway. You hear from
women who were abused on the job….. That is something that mercifully passed me
by. I was always treated fair enough. I was never mocked or insulted, or forced
to perform a dangerous function. I can think of no employer who cheated me out
of promised wages.

And I am grateful to be part of this great American dream in
that at least I made enough money to put a roof over my head and feed my family
and have some access to health care and good schools for my children. Yes, it
was drudgery, but we still had the weekend. We still had fun and ate well
enough.

It wasn’t so bad
after all. But there was no zinger either, no prize, no parade, no bonus, no
round of applause….. it was just a matter of showing up, show up on time and
sober, and if you don’t show up, someone else will.The understanding is that you can easily be
replaced.

One job comes to mind,
in the late summer of 1983, at LeFeber Bulb Co. in Mount Vernon, a farm that
grew daffodils bulbs for harvest and sale. In August they dug up the bulbs
and brought them to a processing shed….. That’s where we worked, in the shed…..
They fed the bulbs into a machine that shook and rattled and sorted the bulbs
according to size….. My job was to stand at the end of the chute and gather the
bulbs into a burlap sack. When the sack was full, tie it up and place it on the
pallet. Same job, all day long, Next day, same job, all day long.

But there is one
saving grace to farm labor, because after a few weeks, the bulb harvest was
done and that particular boring, dusty job was finished until next year, and
the farm crew moved onto some other equally brain-dead task…. Side benefits –
we enjoyed working in the fresh air, and Jim LeFeber was a pretty nice guy to
work for. So it was not any kind of hell, just working day drudgery.

It could be worse.

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